


Fantasmagorico

by J_D_McCormick



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, Veneziano being a creepy kid, implications of ghosts, liberties taken with history, the very faintest mention of Italy/HRE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:01:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27840421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_D_McCormick/pseuds/J_D_McCormick
Summary: Hungary loves Veneziano, really she does. He’s a sweet boy, cheerful and easy-going, so often singing and smiling despite being a servant under Austria’s strict rule. Although he’s young, he’s talented and fairly smart, Hungary has found, if you find the right topics of conversation. She enjoys spending time with him, and he seems to enjoy her company in return. He’s like a little brother.But by god, he can be the most creepy child, and Hungary isn’t sure what to do with that.
Relationships: Hungary & North Italy (Hetalia)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	Fantasmagorico

**Author's Note:**

> *crashes into the Hetalia fandom after 8 years of absence* Ciao!!
> 
> Inspired by bitchapalooza's post [here](https://bitchapalooza.tumblr.com/post/636156464745054208/i-want-a-fic-of-nothing-but-chibitalia-saying-the) .
> 
> Some of the wonderfully creepy things young children say include talking to and about people who are dead or who they've never met, oddly accurate or certain future predictions, and discussing death in surprisingly frank terms. I absolutely adore the idea of sweet, cherubic baby Veneziano spouting things like that in his tiny baby voice, all while smiling.
> 
> So I guess this was the perfect prompt to kick my brain into Hetalia-fic-writing gear. I hope you enjoy my first Hetalia fic in 8 years.

Hungary loves Veneziano, really she does. He’s a sweet boy, cheerful and easy-going, so often singing and smiling despite being a servant under Austria’s strict rule. Although he’s young, he’s talented and fairly smart, Hungary has found, if you find the right topics of conversation. She enjoys spending time with him, and he seems to enjoy her company in return. He’s like a little brother.

But by god, he can be the most creepy child, and Hungary isn’t sure what to do with that.

* * *

Gardening is not one of Hungary’s favourite chores – although she doesn’t mind getting her hands dirty, she’s not as fond of sweating under the warmth of the sun, nor how much she has to clean herself up afterwards. It becomes a little more bearable with Veneziano at her side, though, the little Italian flourishing in the sun and ever enthusiastic.

He’s planting some new flowers next to her as she trims the rosebushes, digging into the dirt with a trowel and using his hands to carefully place and secure each flower. Next to him, tiny and barely looking older than 4-years-old, the full-sized gardening tools look comically large.

“The earth feels so nice and cool. I hope when I go back into the dirt, it feels this nice.” Veneziano hums thoughtfully. Hungary almost severs a few roses from the bush.

“What?” She asks out of surprise.

“You know, when I die.” Veneziano says. “They’ll bury me, and I’ll become earth again. I think if it’s soft and cool like this, I won’t mind.” He pats at the little hole he’s made for the next flower.

“Well,” Hungary manages after a moment, “I don’t think you’ll die for a very long time, Veneziano.”

“Maybe not.” Veneziano shrugs. “But I will, one day. _De terra facta sunt, et in terram pariter revertuntur_.”

Hungary knows Veneziano is no stranger to death, or how tenuous their ‘immortality’ as Nations can be – the death of his grandfather certainly saw to that – but it is still somewhat unsettling to hear him talk so calmly and plainly about his own. Especially with how content he seems, with the idea of being buried, of becoming nothing but soil. She herself grapples sometimes with the thought that one day the idea of her may vanish, her people long gone, no-one left who thinks of themselves in the term ‘Hungarian’ or anything close to it, replaced instead by someone, someplace, else. The thought of becoming nothing is terrifying.

But Veneziano just smiles down at the dirt he piles around the roots of the flowers.

“Maybe She’ll make my body into a flower. I’d like to be a daisy.” He hums.

“You’d make a very pretty daisy, Veneziano.” Hungary tells him.

She tries not to think of him dying, put to rest before he can even come into himself as a fully-fledged nation, body still small like a child’s, as she watches him finish planting the flowers and instead bury his feet beneath a mound of soft soil. It’s the first time he says something that makes her shudder down to her bones.

* * *

Veneziano loves art – painting, sketching, sculpting, anything he can get his hands on. Hungary knows Austria tends to be strict, withholding supplies from him and trying to keep him busy enough that he hardly gets a chance to do anything other than his chores, and she can’t help feeling sorry for him. Sometimes she’s found him leaning on his brush, sighing wistfully as he stares at the portraits in the halls, or tracing images into the dust he’s sweeping.

She’s started bringing him paper and pencils now and then when they are doing housework together, so that he can have a break and sketch while she works. It means a little extra work for her – but she doesn’t mind, when it means she gets to watch him beam happily as he creates. It truly does seem like his calling.

“That’s beautiful, Vene.” She compliments as she passes by, kneeling down beside him to look at the papers he’s drawn on. On one she recognizes Austria at his piano, and herself folding laundry. On another, she sees figures from old Roman myths, Romulus and Remus with their wolf-mother, Anaeus and Venus; Rome himself, posed as if a hero from one of the great poems. On his current page, against a familiar landscape that seems to be the view of the countryside from Austria’s property, a young girl laughs and plays.

“Thank you Miss Hungary.” Veneziano beams up at her. “This is Ida.”

“Ida, hmm?” Hungary smiles.

Veneziano nods, very carefully adding a few more pencil strokes. “She’s one of the children who play in the garden with me.”

Hungary pauses, looking down at Veneziano. There are no other young nations who live in the house with them, since Romano was sent to live with Spain and Holy Roman Empire comes and goes often from wars. There is a village nearby, but it takes some time by carriage to arrive there. And, besides which, Hungary has never seen other children in their garden.

“Really?” She asks uncertainly.

“Mhmm! There’s her, and Adelaide, and Leopold. They live in the hills, but sometimes they come and keep me company.” Veneziano says cheerfully. He shades a little of Ida’s dress. “She’s always really cold, but she’s fun to play with.”

Hungary must stare in silence for too long, because Veneziano looks up from his drawing with wide golden eyes.

“Vehh… did I say something wrong, Miss Hungary…?” He asks hesitantly.

She shakes herself from her shock and tries to smile at him. “No, Vene. You didn’t say anything wrong. I’m… glad you have fun, with them.”

Veneziano smiles again, and goes back to his drawing. “Okay! I think they’d be sad if you said I couldn’t play with them anymore. Adelaide thinks you’re really pretty, she wishes her hair looked like yours."

Hungary isn’t sure what to say to that, so she goes back to the cleaning, leaving Veneziano to keep on drawing. When he goes out to play in the gardens she keeps an eye on him, but she never sees any other children.

* * *

“You look tired, Spain.” Hungary says gently to the other nation, who looks like he’s trying not to fall asleep after the lunch they’ve shared.

“Hmm? Oh, si, I imagine I do.” Spain chuckles weakly, rubbing at his eyes. He has dark bags under them, almost seeming bruised. One of his wrists is wrapped in bandages, and Hungary can see more peeking out of the collar of his shirt. “I have been doing much fighting.”

Hungary hums softly, sympathetically. There has been a lot of conflict in the Mediterranean, and Spain has also been sent to venture into the New World; it’s no wonder he looks tired.

And then there’s the fact that he has to look after Romano, on top of that.

“How is Romano doing?” She asks him, glancing over at where the two Italian brothers are sat in the garden, seemingly bathing in the sunlight and awkwardly attempting conversation. They don’t always get on the most naturally, but Veneziano is always excited to see his brother, so these sporadic visits are usually happy occasions.

Spain sighs quietly. “The chorea seems to be improving as he grows, but he still gets shakes sometimes. I thought that he was beginning to warm up to me a little, but since the Boss has been sending me to the New World, he seems almost angrier than ever.”

“Perhaps he misses you.” Hungary suggests, and Spain laughs.

“I do not think so. Perhaps he misses someone making meals for him.” He smiles.

Hungary returns the smile and looks over at the brothers again. She thinks perhaps Spain doesn’t realise how much more settled Romano is beginning to seem – she doesn’t think she ever saw him not screaming and kicking and crying before he went to live with Spain. She frowns, though, when she notices Veneziano is starting to look teary and distressed, Romano looking uncertain himself. She stands and hurries over to the two of them.

“Oh, Vene, what’s wrong? What happened?” Hungary asks softly.

“I didn’t do anything!” Romano says quickly, even though Hungary didn’t imply he might have. “I just mentioned going back to il bastardo’s house, and he started crying!”

“I don’t want fratello to leave tonight.” Veneziano whimpers as Hungary draws him close. “If he leaves the man in the mask will get him!”

“What? Ottoman?” Spain says, looking surprised as he reaches them. He meets eyes with Hungary – they haven’t discussed Ottoman Empire’s recent attempts at capturing Romano, or his conflicts with Spain, in front of Veneziano. It doesn’t seem like the kind of thing Romano himself would bring up either, the boy too proud to admit to weaknesses or fears. Veneziano should have no idea that he’s been causing trouble, and definitely shouldn’t know what he looks like.

“He’s going to be waiting, and he’ll take Romano!” Veneziano sobs.

“Veneziano.” Hungary coos gently, trying to soothe him. “Ottoman Empire doesn’t even know Romano is here.”

Veneziano just starts shoving at her ineffectually, trying to escape the hug she’s holding him in. “No! No, he knows, he’s going to take fratello!” He insists tearfully. “He’ll hurt him and I won’t ever get to see Romano again!”

“What the hell?” Romano says, beginning to look more and more distressed by the second. He shrinks back close to Spain. “I don’t want to be taken!”

“You won’t be, Romanito, don’t worry.” Spain says, placing assuring hands on Romano’s shoulders.

“So we’re not leaving, right?” The young nation demands, and Spain looks uncertain.

“Romano, we have to go home. We cannot just stay in Austria’s house-”

“You can’t go! You can’t!” Veneziano wails, wriggling and reaching out towards Romano. “I don’t want fratello to go away!”

“The hell do you mean ‘go away’? Not like Nonno, right? I don’t want to die!” Romano hiccups, and starts crying himself. Spain looks briefly panicked, scooping the Italian up into his arms and starting to bounce him gently.

“Hey, Romano, it’s alright. Jefe won’t let Ottoman take you. You’ll be just fine, no-one’s going to die… Ay, Dios.” The Spaniard winces. “Come on, Romanito, no need for tears...”

“I’m sure Mr Austria won’t mind Spain and Romano staying an extra night.” Hungary says quickly over the sound of both the brothers’ crying. She can’t stand to see Veneziano so upset when usually he is so bright and cheerful. “Shh, Vene, no-one’s going anywhere.”

It takes a while to calm both young Nations down, reassuring them and eventually resorting to placating them with sweets. Veneziano clings onto his brother’s shirt as tightly as he can, and though Romano seems more interested in sticking to Spain like glue, he allows it without complaint. Spain looks sheepish as Hungary tells Austria what happened, but it’s agreed that he and Romano can stay an extra day, to his apparent relief.

The second time they start to leave, there’s far less fuss, though Veneziano watches the coach until it disappears into the distance. Hungary stands with him until he’s ready to return to the house and continue working.

* * *

“What’s the song you’re humming, Vene?” Hungary asks Veneziano as she uses a dustpan to collect the dirt Veneziano has swept together with his pushbroom. “It’s very pretty. Did you come up with it yourself?”

“No.” Veneziano chirps happily, smiling as he drifts to another area of the corridor they’re currently sweeping. “I don’t know its name, but the man in the portrait taught it to me.”

He points up at one of the portraits hanging on the wall – one of the composers Austria is so proud of, she thinks perhaps Päminger. She’s not sure, because she never met the man, and Veneziano certainly hasn’t either.

“Oh really?” She says anyway, playing along with him. Young children can be imaginative, she supposes, and it’s as true for Nations as it is humans. It is how she decided Ida, Adelaide, and Leopold could be explained.

“Sì. Sometimes when you and Mr Austria are asleep or out of the house, he plays Mr Austria’s piano. He says he used to play piano a lot.” Veneziano nods. Hungary feels that little shiver crawl up her back. “He offered to teach me, but I didn’t want Mr Austria to be mad if I touched the piano, so I just sing along instead. He taught me all the words.”

“Oh… Well. That’s… nice.” She tells him, trying to smile. Veneziano nods, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he very carefully sweeps dust and dirt away from the skirting boards without damaging anything.

“He is. He’s taught me a lot of songs, do you want to hear another?” He asks brightly, as if he hasn’t just implied that a dead man comes into the house when Hungary and Austria are away to play the piano.

“I’d love to.” Hungary tells him anyway, and for the rest of the day as they sweep and dust, Veneziano continues to sing little melodies he claims he learned from the portrait.

That night Austria confirms that the songs are, in fact, pieces composed by Leonhard Päminger. The melodies, perhaps, she could have brushed off as Veneziano picking up on Austria’s playing – but Austria certainly does not sing, and often he plays from memory, not sheet music which Veneziano could have picked up and read. One of them, _Domine, ne in furore tuo_ , is an acapella piece.

A week later, when she is awake later than usual, she hears Veneziano singing quietly from deeper in the house. She swears she hears faint piano music accompanying him.

She asks Austria to move the portrait, if only so she doesn’t have to feel it staring at her as she cleans.

* * *

The day Veneziano leaves Austria’s house is a bittersweet one for Hungary – it is sad, to lose the company she’s grown so used to over the centuries, the boy she still sometimes thinks of as like a little brother. The house will seem quieter, without his singing and laughing. It hurts, to see him become an opposing force rather than an ally.

But she is glad, too, to see him finally have the chance to strike out on his own, to be out from under Austria’s thumb and become his own independent nation. He has grown well, taller than her now, still a little lanky in his teenhood, but looking put-together in well-tailored clothes. She doesn’t begrudge him the wars and conflicts, either the ones in the past or the ones still to come.

Austria doesn’t see him off, but Hungary does, smiling up at him even though the tears that start gathering in her eyes.

“Don’t cry, Miss Hungary.” Veneziano says to her, reaching out to take her hands and squeeze them. “You will make me cry, and that won’t do on my first day going home, will it?”

“No, it won’t.” Hungary chuckles quietly. “I’m sorry.”

Veneziano smiles. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’ll be alright.” He tells her softly. “I had a dream last night. Holy Rome came to see me.”

He looks down at their hands, gently pressing his palms to hers like he used to as a child, back when his hands were engulfed by hers. Now the tips of his fingers peek out over her own, slender and strong. Hungary looks up at him. He doesn’t talk much about Holy Roman Empire – after centuries of his absence, and upheaval following the dissolution of the empire, it is only now that Prussia has confirmed their fears – that Holy Roman Empire is no more. That sadness echoes deep in Veneziano’s eyes, even as he smiles.

“He said he was sending someone to look out for me. That he would be within them, guiding them to me.” He says, nearly a whisper. “So I think I’ll be okay.”

Perhaps, if he had said such a thing a millennia ago, tiny and sweet and seeming the picture of innocence, Hungary would have shivered. She remembers him talking of playing with children who were not there, talking of people he could not have known, and learning songs from dead musicians, all with a bright smile. But now all she can do is reach up and brush his cheek gently.

“I think so too.” She nods.

For once, she hopes that his strange talk of apparitions and future predictions is true.

**Author's Note:**

> *"Fantasmagorico"/"Phantasmagorical" - something dreamlike, fantastical, unreal, deceptive, or shifting.
> 
> *When Veneziano says he hopes "She" makes him a flower, he is referring to the Earth. I like to think Earth is thought of as a mythological or deity-like figure to Nations, the Mother Of All.
> 
> *I gave up on understanding exactly what the hell was going down between The Ottoman Empire, Spain, and Italy, when it was going down, and how that correlated to Hetalia, so the history is fudged here. Theoretically somewhere around the 1400s, maybe, but "vaguely after Ottoman Empire started trying to capture Romano but before Veneziano kicked Ottoman Empire's butt" is the best I can give you.
> 
> *Leonhard Päminger (1495-1567) was an Austrian composer. _Domine, ne in furore tuo (Ps 38)_ is a very pretty piece and I ended up listening to it for most of the writing of this fic - [here if you're curious](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qF0Cy7xTSbU&ab_channel=lpaminger).
> 
> *Veneziano's departure happens shortly after the Austro-Prussian War of 1866 (the Seven Weeks War, known in Italy as the Third Independence War). Although Italian Unification started in 1848 and wasn't complete until 1871, it seems like the Third Independence War is the one that solidified the Kingdom of Italy's separation from Austro-Hungary, so it made sense for that to be when Veneziano leaves for good. Additionally, it allows for....
> 
> *The North German Confederation is founded in 1867, and goes on to develop into what we now know as Germany. You can see [this post](https://english-kirkland.tumblr.com/post/636057439922520064/the-manga-strip-about-germanys-birth-mentions) for a bit more on my thoughts about HRE and Germany, but to condense: Holy Rome survives the dissolution of the empire until 1849, when due to worries about the toll on his health and body, he relinquishes nationhood until Prussia can create a unified German nation. The attempt to restore his nationhood as North German Confederation, however, leads to amnesia, and the 'death' of Holy Roman Empire. Hence him appearing to Veneziano saying he is 'sending someone to watch over him'.
> 
> *This fic took me 2 full days and like 17 tabs for quick research and cross referencing. I forgot how research-intensive Hetalia fic is to write. God help me.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed and feedback is always welcome! Please do forgive historical hiccups for sake of my brain and nicer prose and plot.


End file.
